Things Aren't Always What They Seem
by WeWriteTheTruth
Summary: When a certain coldhearted Norwegian is faced with a desperate soldier with nowhere else to turn to, what is he supposed to say?  DenNor
1. Chapter 1

Sigurd huffed impatiently, his hot breath fogging up the mug he was currently wiping vigorously with a rag that was about as stained and tarnished as the glass itself. With an exasperated sigh he threw it back onto the counter with a loud clink - causing several of the patrons in the ice cold room to fall silent and turn their gaze onto the Norwegian.

_Darn it._ he thought crossly, examining the glass and ignoring the stupid stares from everyone else in the room. He had chipped another glass. One of these days someone was going to come up to the counter and complain of a cut lip. Oh well, he didn't much care about the welfare of others. Cuts would heal. Their stupidity, however, wouldn't.

He had inherited this idiotic, worthless tavern from his parents years ago. Not that they cared much about him. .. 'Inherited' was also putting it lightly. More like it was thrown at his face without any warning. Sure, he had a happy enough life. For awhile, anyways. It's a strain to remember the days when he'd actually be in a constant good mood. ... Like it mattered. The Norwegian was stuck in a dead-end place with an obscure dead-end job. He snorted loudly to himself, drumming his slender fingers rhythmically on the counter. Not like the place was going to last much longer. It was falling to pieces from the inside out. .. Well, the outside of the tavern also sagged and resembled a thoroughly depressed building. How ironic, he thought, that most of his customers were big burly rivermen who couldn't afford the nicer taverns and inns.

Lately the crowd was more obnoxious than ever. Traveling soldiers had come in and out of the tavern, and they were much, much louder than the rivermen. Their armor clanked and banged loudly, and it was even worse when one of them would pull out a sword with an ear-splitting metallic hiss. Sigurd didn't leave the counter after that, the wall of wood being the only thing that protected him from the drunk men with.. sharp metal objects.

_Cheaper prices, cheaper environment, I suppose. _he mused to himself bitterly. The ale here wasn't even worth drinking.

When he was six years old, his mother had become heavy with child. He remembered how happy his parents looked. The expressions they often shared were nothing less than overjoyed. They practically glowed, brightening the entire dark atmosphere of the pub. His mother had even began knitting tiny colored socks and caps for the baby to be. She was restless with excitement, and needed something to do with her hands otherwise she was going to be sick. More customers began flowing willingly into the tavern, wanting to support the happy couple with their future child.

Sigurd didn't exactly understand what was going on, but he was excited nonetheless. Mother had told him he was going to have a new baby sister or brother soon. He was really hoping for the latter. Maybe he could teach him how to count the bronze coins that were currency in their town, or how to play marbles. Mother said it would be awhile before the baby could learn to do those sorts of things, but he was still happy. When their parents grew old, they'd inherit the work, and eventually, the whole tavern.

"Shouldn't the baby be coming out soon, ma?" Sigurd asked his mother, pointing at her swelled stomach with an intense gaze. "Can he breathe in there?" his eyes suddenly grew wide as he ran forward and put an ear to her stomach. "I don't hear him..!"

She smiled warmly and ruffled his fair hair, the slight wrinkles at the corners if her eyes crinkling up and offering their own smile of sorts. "Don't you worry, little rabbit. Your new brother or sister will come when its ready."

"It'll be a boy.. right?"

Mother laughed softly, "Maybe, Sigurd. But your Father and I will be very happy either way."

"Still.." he said thoughtfully, his brows drawing together. "I think it should be a boy..."

"Someday you're going to find a lovely young lady to marry and she'll laugh at you for saying things like that!" she scolded affectionately.

"Ewww." Sigurd frantically shook his head, his blonde bangs spilling across his face. "I don't like girls, mom..!"

He remembered the day his mother went into labor.. though, he didn't know that's what it was at that moment. He had thought she had to pee.. or something like that. Mother had been passing out mugs of rich, amber-colored liquid - Sigurd didn't know much about it, except that he couldn't drink it. Not that he wanted to. He stole a sly sip of a customer's drink when the bearded man wasn't looking and quickly recoiled in utter disgust behind the counter. It felt like fire in his throat and scalded the whole way down, not to mention it tasted terribly bitter.

It was the worst thing he had ever tasted.

"Oh..! Honey! I think it's time!" Mother exclaimed loudly as she dropped her serving tray onto the floor with a loud crash, a spill of ale sluggishly spreading across the floor. Her arms wrapped protectively around her swelled stomach.

"Are you 'kay..?" Sigurd had asked, with real concern when he was the mess. She looked like it hurt.. and Mother never let a mess like that just sit there.

How _stupid _he had been back then. Why had he cared so much about her?

"Yes, sweetheart.. go and get your father, okay? I'll be fine."

The small Norwegian scampered quickly off and up the stairs for his father, after tripping on the third step - which was steeper than all the rest.

He remembered waiting. And waiting. He sat at one of the stools near the counter, fiddling with some of the empty glasses. Sigurd had tried to sneak upstairs on several occasions, but each time, a large woman turned him away saying, "Your mamma's tough. She'll be just fine." She certainly didn't sound _fine_. He thought the lady to be quite the idiot - couldn't she hear his mom yelling and screaming just behind the door?

When evening came and went, Sigurd found a firm hand shaking his shoulder. He had fallen asleep and missed _all_ the excitement! He rubbed his dull blue eyes and quickly looked up, removing his face from the grain of the wood counter. He found himself staring into his Father's eyes. Eyes that seemed to lack the amused twinkle they usually held. "Hi, Dad..!"

"Come meet your new brother.." he had murmured softly in a broken voice, taking his son's hand gently into his own. Sigurd thought his eyes had seemed wet - but Dad.. Dad never cried. He even teased the small Norwegian whenever he let tears spill over, saying that men never let themselves cry. .. He must've just imagined it.

"What's his name..?" Sigurd asked excitedly, squeezing Father's hand as he hopped up every stair - making sure to jump high enough for even the third step. "Does he look like me..?"

"Emil. Your mother named him Emil.." he whispered quietly, so softly that Sigurd could barely discern what he was saying. "He has your face.."

"Emil, huh? I like it, dad."

Father guided him into the room, and Sigurd saw the woman who had been standing outside the door inside. Tears were spilling willingly down her reddened and wrinkled face. She cried noisily, he thought. Why was everyone so sad? He had a new brother!

The Norwegian's azure gaze fell onto Mother, who was in the bed. Her eyes were closed and they looked sunken. Her frail arms were frozen, holding something in a wrapped bundle. The glowing woman he knew had ceased to exist. "Why is mom sleeping..?"

His question only caused the woman to cry louder and he was tempted to tell her to shut up, he couldn't hear anything. He hadn't even gotten to see his new brother yet.

"Dad, why is mom sleeping?" Sigurd asked again, looking up at his Father. He gasped when he saw a single tear slide down his cheek. "D-Dad..! You're crying!" he exclaimed in complete surprise, his brow furrowing in confusion. His father crying? He immediately glanced towards the ceiling, assuming there was a leak.. and.. and it was raining. That's what fell on Dad's face.

Silence followed his questions and exclamations. Why was everyone ignoring him? He didn't understand.. hadn't Father brought him up here to show him his new brother? To show him Emil? "Dad..." he said in a soft voice, edged with uncertainty. "Weren't you going to show me Emil?"

Father cleared his throat and nodded, bringing his calloused hand up to wipe away the moisture on his cheek. He took the bundle gently from Mother's arms and pressed a kiss to her pale forehead, murmuring something indistinguishable. He crouched in front of Sigurd, and held out what would be the boy's best friend.

He had a head of extremely light, fair blonde hair that smoothed against his head. It was so light in fact, that Sigurd thought it looked kind of like snow. He brushed his hand gently over the hair, eyes wide. Sigurd had never thought babies looked so tiny and small.. so frail. It seemed like if you dropped him once, or touched him too roughly - he'd shatter into a million tiny pieces.

"This is.. Emil." his Father spoke, voice splintering.

A loud voice brought Sigurd surging back to the present. A cocky looking man stood in front of the counter, clad in the usual soldier uniform. He hadn't seen this specific cadet before - he would've remembered him. The man had grayish blonde locks that were tousled messily and a bright pair of cobalt eyes. What was most noticeable on his face though, was the wide smirk he bore. He cleared his throat, "Yo. What does a man have to do to get a drink around here?"

Sigurd snorted and narrowed his eyes at the offending man. "Give me the money and we'll see.

"Well.. here's the thing." he ran his hand slightly nervously through his hair, but maintained the grin. "I don't really _have_ any money."

"Then the door's right over there. You're welcome to leave _now_, and not loiter in my tavern." the Norwegian replied coolly, setting his rag down.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa.." the soldier held up his hands in defense and grinned wider. "I was thinking maybe I could.. form some kinda deal with ya." He paused, surveying Sigurd through slightly narrowed eyes. "Hm. You look kind of young to own a place. You sure you aren't pretending?"

Sigurd sighed and his gaze grew colder as he called across the room. "Emil, come here..!"

His brother arrived breathless, an apron loosely around his slim body. "What is it, Sigurd..?" he asked, looking tired.

"This.. _soldier_ here seems to think he can trick a free drink out of us."

Said soldier shrugged his shoulders innocently, "There's no harm in trying."

Emil sighed and set the empty glasses he held onto the counter before turning his violet gaze onto the man. Honestly, couldn't Sigurd have taken care of him on his own? "No free drinks, sir."

"Here's the deal.. I've got no place to stay for the next week or so. All the other places in town turned me down." the man's grin slackened slightly as he leaned forward on the counter. "I'm supposed to be getting paid for my commission soon, but.." he trailed off as a gusty sigh escaped his lips. "The guy who hired me hasn't paid up yet." He held out his gloved hands, "I'm begging you, c'mon. You're my last hope."

Emil had a habit of feeling bad for the people who came in with their sob stories about how their relative had died, or they were homeless.. maybe it was because he lacked a mother himself. He shot a forlorn expression at Sigurd, "Couldn't we help him, Sigurd..? It wouldn't cost much.."

Sigurd opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by the man, "Please! I promise I'll pay you as soon as I get my money. Then I'll be out of your hair."

The Norwegian closed his mouth grudgingly, flicking his gaze from Emil to the 'desperate' soldier. ".. One week."


	2. Chapter 2

The soldier simply beamed and practically dove over the counter to pull Sigurd into an utterly suffocating, spine-popping hug. "Thanks! You have no idea how much this is gonna help me."

Sigurd grunted awkwardly as he was jerked partially onto the hard counter by the man. He narrowed his eyes dangerously and managed to wheeze, "Put me.. down..."

The soldier's cobalt eyes widened and his arms quickly slackened as he complied, still managing to smile. "Sorry. By the way, my name's Mathias."

"Idiot." Sigurd grumbled unevenly, picking back up the same old mug and wet rag. He began scrubbing at a particularly stubborn scuff in the glass.

"Huh? I think you heard me wrong.. I said _Mathias_."

The blonde behind the counter rolled his eyes. "Emil! Just show him to an empty room."

The snowy-haired teen nodded quickly and smiled shakily at Mathias. "Hey, um.. come with me." He held open the swinging door that let you step behind the counter. "You'll be upstairs."

"Upstairs? Wow..! I must be a pretty special customer."

"Actually.. all our rooms are upstairs.." Emil replied quietly, twiddling his thumbs as he began to ascend the creaking stairs.

The soldier, obviously hadn't heard him. Or perhaps, he just chose not to. "How long have you owned this place?" he questioned, getting some 'old' vibes from the stairs he stepped on. The creaks they let out sounding like whining choruses and croaks of _old, old... old.._ with every step that he took.

"Hm? Oh, it's been in our family for awhile.."

"And exactly how long is 'awhile'?"

"A few generations, I guess. Why?" Emil paused at the top of the stairs and turned to face him curiously.

"Uh, no reason." Mathias answered smoothly, shrugging his shoulders. "Heh, I was just curious." _More like I was curious about whether or not the steps would hold my weight._

"Oh." the teen blinked and turned right, heading down the hallway. He stopped at the door at the very end. He thought it would probably be a good idea if he put Mathias' room as far away from Sigurd's as possible – which was clear at the other end of the hall. "This'll be your room." he turned the tarnished knob and pushed it open.

It was pleasantly nice – and most importantly, clean. The bed had plain, crisp white sheets and covers while a simple wood nightstand stood beside it.

".. I-Is it alright, then?" Emil questioned seeing as the Dane failed to reply.

"Huh? Oh yeah, this is awesome. Way better than sleeping in the rain, right?"  
He cracked a slight smile, "Yes.. I guess so." The teen paused, "Just.. tell me if you need anything. Try and avoid my brother.."

"But he seems like such a nice guy." Mathias winked and tried to keep sarcasm out of his tone as the smile on his face twisting into a slight smirk. "Why in the world would I want to do that?"

"He's nice when you get to know him, but.."

"But?"

"He never wants to get to know people." Emil looked nervous and kept shooting glances down the hallway, as if Sigurd would come up the stairs at any moment.

"Why's that?" the soldier tilted his head, an eyebrow raised. "Did something happen?"

"He doesn't like to talk about it." the snowy-haired teen broke off with a small cough. "I should.. be getting back downstairs so I can help."

"Huh?" Mathias looked albeit slightly disappointed, but nodded dejectedly. "Alright. Night."

The next morning, Sigurd was digging through the tavern's food supplies. Something was missing.

.. Hold on. A lot happened to be missing. Sigurd distinctly remembered there being five loaves of bread, three bricks of cheese, and some smoked meat. As of now, it looked to be at about half of that. He supposed thieves could have come in the middle of the night – but why wouldn't they take all of the food, rather than picking and choosing?

"Emil! Get down here!" the blonde called flatly over his shoulder, beginning to expand his search for the food.

"What is it..?" he asked breathlessly, having dashed down the stairs and quickly into the room at the tone of his brother's voice. "Is something wrong?"

"Food's missing." Sigurd replied flippantly, letting out a deep sigh. "I don't want to have to go out and buy more, but I think I might have to."

"Maybe someone got hungry..?" Emil suggested.

"Who the hell would eat two and a half loaves of bread?" 

"I don't know. I know as much as you do."

"Did you lock the doors last night?" Sigurd questioned.

"Huh? I always do.."

"The only person we have staying here is... hold on. Where's that idiot?" Sigurd straightened up and crossed his arms tightly across his chest.

"I haven't seen him. I thought maybe he just slept in." Emil let out a lazy sigh, sensing that he'd have to do some sort of work soon.

"Go check his room. If him staying here was just an excuse to rob us I'll skin his sorry hide." the blonde muttered crossly, the second bit mainly to himself.

"Alright, alright.. hold on." the teen hurried out of the room and up the stairs, where he found himself in front of Mathias' door. He really didn't want to disturb the soldier if he was just sleeping. But in this case, he had no choice. He turned the doorknob quietly, a faint click resounding as he pushed it all the way open.

The covers were rumpled and wrinkled, but there was a distinct lack of person in the room. Emil let out another deep sigh and shut the door behind him as he headed back downstairs. Mathias had seemed like a nice enough guy, but he guessed that just goes to show you shouldn't trust some random guy who walks into the bar. There goes Sigurd's chances of pitying anyone ever again..

"I checked, but he wasn't there."

"Damn it.. he just wanted to con us out of some food, didn't he?" Sigurd hissed softly.

"I guess." Emil replied with a shrug, seeming not to care nearly as much as his brother did.

Faint scratching sounds resounded from behind the counter, near the bottles of alcohol that rested carefully on the shelves. Something.. or _someone _was inside.

"Shhh..!" Sigurd said in a harsh whisper, pressing his finger to Emil's lips. "I hear something."

"It's probably just another rat-"

"_Shhh_."

The blonde crept carefully and soundlessly towards the counter. He hefted one of the kitchen knives in his hand, just in case. The sounds grew even louder as he approached the counter. As much as he hated confrontation, whatever this thing was was starting to piss him off.

In a flash, he managed to vault over the counter and point the sharpened blade of the knife directly at the man he found sitting there. 


End file.
